Why I Read Poems
Whatever I always imagined a poetry-lover to be, I’m not that person. I was not a quiet, dreamy (read: poetic) kid. I built forts and slept outside in the summer; I made stew out of sticks and pinecones and grass in margarine tubs of hose water. I caught crawdads with a fishing pole I made out of a marshmallow stick. I loved to read, but mostly about kids surviving in the wilderness. Island of the Blue Dolphins, My Side of the Mountain, Julie of the Wolves. That kind of thing. Poetry was boring. Even Shel Silverstein.
A writing prompt based on the poem “How To Be A Poet” by Wendell Berry.